Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(91)

I fist my hands, stopping them from moving. “It is. We aren’t connected anymore.”

A frown. “Oh. I don’t feel differently.”

“I know. It was something only I felt. The thing is, when I healed the king, I somehow broke our connection . . .” My mouth is drier than year-old jerky. I clear my throat. “. . . and created a new one with him.”

“With the king?”

“Yes.”

He rubs his forehead, hiding his eyes. “Huh, interesting.”

“That’s not all. The new bond with Aodren is different than ours was.”

“In what way?” He glances up and cants his head slightly to the side.

“It’s stronger.” I look at the space between us. “He can feel the connection. He notices when I’m near. Or when I’m in a heightened emotional state.”

Cohen’s fresh-punched expression makes my chest ache. “He can feel your emotions?”

“Not all, just peak emotions. Like when I was captured at the castle with Finn. I was panicked and afraid for our lives. He sensed that.”

His boot pushes through the snow. “You’re saying he felt you were in danger and came back for you?” The blow of his words breaks me. I don’t want to keep hurting him.

“He risked his life to save ours.”

“I—I . . .” He coughs out a broken laugh. Hands go to his hips. He paces away, kicking up snow as he goes.

“Cohen, say something.”

He stares up at the sky, letting out a breath like a dragon blowing steam. His shoulders sink. “I don’t know what to say, Britt.”





Chapter

43


Cohen


A LINE WRINKLES BETWEEN HER PALE BROWS. Her lips tug down. Her hand pumps in and out of a fist. I recognize all her telling signs of frustration. They’re pieces of her that I know so well.

“He’s a good man,” I eventually say, grinding the words between my teeth, a reminder to myself more than a confirmation of Britta’s opinion. “I’m grateful for what he did to save you both.”

I’ve served King Aodren for a year and a half. While I wasn’t pleased with the way he led the country, I now know it wasn’t his fault. Phelia had taken over his mind. Since the king recovered from the Spiriter’s bind, he’s proved many times over that he’s a worthy leader. Saving my brother and Britta is one of those times.

I remind myself of this twice. Even then, I want to break his royal face. It chafes me, knowing he’s had a connection to Britta all this time. Bastard never said a word.

“Talk to me.” Britta’s fingers touch my back, and a tremor of need rolls through me. She’ll never realize how much she affects me.

“I don’t know what to say.” I turn around.

“Something, anything. Are you angry?”

Of course. But not with her. My fury is solely pointed at King Aodren. Behind Britta, the wind catches the snow on the barn’s roof and kicks some off. It’s a white veil picking up the morning light.

Because I’m a fool, I ask, “You care about him?”

Her chest rises and falls in a measured breath. “Cohen, I don’t want to hurt you. But I—I do. I care about him.”

Bloody stars. I spent the last couple of years fighting so hard for her, to keep her safe. Never imagined I’d lose her anyway.

I didn’t think she even liked the man.

Could her connection to King Aodren be the reason she’s been distant lately? How much does it affect her feelings for a person? Was the connection we once shared what swayed her feelings toward me? I scrub my eyes, hating the turn in my thoughts.

Concern parts her sea of freckles. Britta’s face has been in my dreams so often, it’s a fight not to wrap her in my arms and try to kiss our connection back to life. If only Channeler magic worked that way.

“What does this mean for us?” I dare to ask.

A snowflake catches on the pale fan of her lashes. I move to brush it away, but she does it first. “I—I don’t know. Can we not just be the same as we were before?”

But that’s just it. We aren’t how we were before.

“I don’t know, Dove. Last thing I want is to hurt you.” I fight the urge to mold my palm around her cheek. “I keep thinking that I’ve spent the last year and a half hunting for the king. While you—”

“While I what?” Her eyes narrow.

“You haven’t had the same opportunity to figure out what you really want. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I just . . . all I’m saying is I’ve had my chance to figure this out.” I gesture between us.

Britta scoots back, her feet digging trails in the snow. “What does that mean?”

I swallow, somehow feeling older than the trees around us, older than the valley under our feet, older than the moon slipping out of the sky. “I’m not a perfect man. You know I’ve got buckets of flaws. I’m stubborn, reckless, and sometimes thoughtless . . . and I’ve hurt you deeper than any other man.” Her expression turns questioning, so I press on. “Thing is, I know exactly who and what I want. And that’s you. I know it when I wake in the morning. Know it when I fall asleep. You’re the first and last thing on my mind. Your name plays on every beat of my heart.”